There's Beauty in the Breakdown
by Emmmie
Summary: He found it odd that no one noticed; not one person noticed him swiftly pocket the x-acto knife from the art room.
1. There's Beauty in the Breakdown

**Writing this at a pretty low point in my week so if it comes off as scattered I apologize... Not sure if I'll continue this or just leave it as is. **

There's Beauty in the Breakdown

He found it odd that no one noticed; not one person noticed him swiftly pocket the x-acto knife from the art room. He could feel the cold metal every time he dipped his hand into his letterman jacket during class. He worried as he jogged back and forth across the football field hours later, and each time Coach Bieste even looked at him his heart thundered against his rib cage.

His thoughts were consumed with irrational, improbable questions. Did she know? Had she dug through his locker and found the knife? Was she just waiting until practice was over to make a scene?

Really, and funnily enough, the only person who noticed he was acting out of the ordinary was Mr. Schuester. He questioned him, cornered him so he couldn't leave the classroom after the bell had rung, and asked him how he was doing and if he was okay.

He wasn't sure how to answer, and for a split second Dave wanted to scream out and beg the teacher to help him. Just stop the voices in his head, stop the pains in his chest, and stop the laughter and the scornful words.

But he deserved this. He'd hurt Kurt so bad that he had to switch schools, and Dave knew he deserved everything he was getting. Sure, Kurt had come back, but that didn't defeat or erase what he had done. What he had put Kurt and his family through.

He brushed aside Schuester's concern quickly though he could see that the teacher was still worried. He had every right to be, didn't he? He sure as hell didn't have the most wonderful coming out party. He hadn't been pulled out of the closet; Azimio had pushed him out kicking and screaming. He watched as Kurt's friends laughed angrily; how ironic that the kid who was bullying their friend for being gay was actually gay himself?

While Azimio and the rest of the football team didn't dictate who was on or off the team they still didn't make things easier. He quit showering altogether in the locker room and instead waited until he was safely in his own bathroom. And suddenly, on the cold tile of his bathroom floor he realized what he had put Kurt through; he finally understood just how badly he had hurt and terrified him for so many years.

It wasn't until his first slushy, courtesy of Puckerman, that he _really_ realized how many people, not just Kurt, that he had hurt. He found himself being pulled towards the bathroom, and though at first he wasn't sure where he was being taken or by whom he was too dejected to put up much of a fight. He was handed a wad of paper towel and as he wiped his face it became all too clear. _Kurt._

"Well, your t-shirt is ruined," Kurt said and watched Dave as he wiped the rest of the blue liquid from his face. "How are your eyes?"

"Stings," Dave finally managed, his voice and entire body were shaking, though Kurt couldn't tell if it was because the slushy was cold or because he was upset.

"Splash them with water and they'll start to feel better soon," Kurt said softly.

"What are you doing?" Dave asked; he'd started to wipe the slushy from his letterman jacket and watched Kurt sit on a small couch. _Had he pulled him into the girl's bathroom?_ Dave would have laughed had it been any other moment; this was so very Kurt.

"I know how it feels, Karofsky," Kurt crossed his arms over his chest defensively. He didn't look angry, but he also didn't look entirely comfortable alone with him. Could he really blame him? "And while Puckerman is a friend what he did was low, and he should know better since he's taken more than one of those from you."

"I'm sorry," Dave murmured. He was uncomfortable and though Kurt was trying neither boy knew what to say. "For everything."

"Well, what's done is done," Kurt said very matter-of-factly, and for a moment Dave wanted to pull the knife out—not to scare Kurt, which he was sure it probably would have—but to tell him to take it away, don't let him do anything stupid.

But he didn't. He couldn't put that on Kurt.

His and Kurt's second run in was only a few days later; he caught sight of Blaine and Kurt in the bleachers during football practice. Both were bundled under heavy coats, hats, mittens, and scarves, but he could see their faces. They were laughing at something Finn had done, but Kurt's eyes caught Dave's and Finn reacted badly. He wasn't even sure what Finn had thought Dave had done, but apparently it had been an unforgivable offense, and he found himself flat on his back with fists flying at his face. Dave knew he should have fought back. _Hell_, he was bigger and probably stronger than Finn by a mile, but he had hurt too many people already with his fists and had vowed he wouldn't do that again.

It felt like forever but only a few seconds passed before he found Coach Bieste pulling Finn off of him and pushing him towards the school. Blaine and Kurt both reached down to help Dave up, and though it shocked him at first Dave was grateful for the helping hands.

He found himself actually _liking_ Blaine. The feeling came like a slushy hitting him in the face; he had his back pressed against the brick wall of Dalton Academy, Kurt standing to his left jabbering away about song choices and dance moves and Glee stuff he really didn't care much about. Blaine exited the school last, but his eyes lit up when he saw Kurt and the two hugged briefly before Blaine smiled kindly at him, "Hey Dave."

The guy was all hair gel and smooth, polite conversations and he had this _dapperness _about him that made you like him even though you tried your hardest not to.

Mr. Schuester had cracked down; forcing Puck to stop throwing slushies—though the hockey team took on the job anyways—and even offered Dave a place in the Glee Club. He had honestly thought about it, he really couldn't get any lower on the social ladder if he had tried, and though Kurt and Blaine both tried to get him to join Dave wasn't going to budge.

At least, at first, he wasn't going to budge. Then came Rachel fucking Berry. She wrung her hands in her lap as she tried to explain that Glee Club was about second chances and if they didn't give Dave a chance like they had given Puck than they were just a bunch of hypocrites. He tried to explain he had no interest in singing and dancing, but of course, as with everything else relating to Rachel Berry, it fell on deaf ears. She encouraged him to join, or at least to audition.

"It's informal really. Mike can't sing either and he's still a part of New Directions. You don't have to sing something epic or long or even _good_, just sing something."

In some fantasy world Dave had imagined that _maybe_ they would accept him, that _maybe _they would let him sing and love his voice, and that _maybe_ they would welcome him with open arms and his apologies would finally mean something. Fantasy has no place in reality, Dave thought bitterly.

Rachel had been wrong. Turns out that New Directions, though Rachel, Santana, and Kurt were the only exceptions, were actually a bunch of hypocrites. They objected from the second he stepped into the room. They were skeptical, more so at _his_ motives than the ones that Rachel was possibly bringing to the table. Funnily enough Dave was sure Rachel's motives, oddly as it sounded, had been out of pure kindness and trust that Kurt knew what he was talking about when he had told her that "Dave has changed."

"We have to give him a second chance. We gave _Puck_ dozens of second chances," she protested, Finn interrupting her with the usual Dave bashing and Puck followed suit.

"I didn't threaten people's lives, Rachel," Puck sneered at Dave, his distaste was very evident.

"We don't want him here, Mr. Schue," Mercedes said loudly over everyone's protests.

"If Kurt is fine with this, why can't you guys be?" Rachel questioned, but it fell on deaf ears. Dave heaved a large sigh, giving Rachel his best apologetic look, and he walked out of the room. His chest felt tight, a tingling heavy feeling weighed on his entire body. He'd never felt such intense sadness over anything in his entire life. He had never really been _friends_ with any of them, and yet he had never felt more abandoned. _No one cares what happens to him, Mr. Schue, and we don't want him here,_ Finn had said as Dave passed through the doorway. The tears didn't start to fall until he had reached the art room.

His chest heaved up and down as he tried to catch his breath and control the stream of tears that had begun to rush down his cheeks.

"Why am I not surprised," Dave mumbled to himself. He was angry, more so at himself than at the group of social outcasts who had every right to want him gone. A flash of metal caught his eye as he rocked back and forth on his heels trying to calm himself down.

He'd taken enough art classes to know how dangerous it was. They had been warned from day one that x-acto knives were sharp and dangerous objects. They were to be handled carefully, and under the supervision of a teacher or another adult. He was surprised that the teacher had left a pile of them sitting along the edge of the window. He ran his fingers over the cold metal before picking one of them up from the box. Dave slipped the knife into his letterman jacket just as the art teacher, Mr. Tyler, returned to the room, a bit startled to see Dave standing in front of him.

"Dave," Mr. Tyler noticed Dave's puffy, red eyes and wet cheeks and leaned against his desk with a small sigh. He was a lot like Mr. Schuester. He truly cared about his students and about whether or not they learned in his classroom. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Dave breathed out, thankful he hadn't been caught taking the knife. "I just needed a quiet place to clear my head."

Mr. Tyler nodded understandingly, his smile warm and actually caring, "Well any time you need it my door is always open."

It took everything he had not to cry right there and then, but Dave nodded weakly before slipping past Mr. Tyler into the empty hallway.

He didn't hear from Rachel that night though he received several text messages and unanswered phone calls from Blaine and Kurt, both apparently worried. Dave shakily wrote a short note to his father, apologizing for what a terrible son he'd been and how he was disappointed in himself for not being good enough for his father. He scribbled a note to Kurt telling him that he and Rachel and Santana and Blaine were good people, but he didn't deserve their friendship or their acceptance. He kept repeating how sorry he was, not that he was doing this, but that he had ever hurt Kurt.

_I truly hope you find happiness with Blaine. You both deserve at least that much out of this mess._

He didn't sign it or fold the note or address it with a sealed envelope. He just wanted this _over _with. He pulled a bottle of scotch from his father's collection and forcefully sucked down half of the bottle, grimacing at the burning sensation that hit at the back of his throat.

He dragged the knife across his wrist, not pressing hard enough to do much damage, but the action still drew a tiny line of blood. He sighed in relief that maybe this wouldn't hurt as much as he thought it would, and pressed the blade harder against his skin. It stung for a few seconds and the blood pooled quickly around the cut. He took another few swigs from the bottle of scotch before pressing the knife further.

His head was heavy and it felt like his brains had been scooped out and the hollow portion of his head had been filled with globs of cotton. His wrist had stopped hurting even though the bright red stain that had formed on the tile floor below him was quickly growing in diameter.

Dave's phone buzzed and with sticky fingers he fumbled to check the sender of the message. _Kurt._ He dropped the phone next to him, not bothering to read the text or reply.

Dave was grateful when the world in front of him blurred together and darkness overtook him.


	2. Blow the Candles Out

**Warning: Klaine-y bits, some Finchel, and character death. Shoot, did that spoil it? ;)**

**Thank you for the reviews! They really do help with the writing process, and not something that motivates me, but it also helps me realize when I'm writing a character wrong or displaying something incorrectly. I debated leaving that as a one shot, but I can never just leave something unresolved; I guess that's the analytical part of my English major coming into play. Also, I had this idea midway through my American Literature class and I had to run with it. Here's the last and final part. Text in italics is a flashback.**

Blow the Candles Out

He'd never seen so many people in black before. At his own mother's funeral he couldn't remember anything except the smooth dark wood of her casket. _Had it been wood?_ He remembers the glossy look and feel of the box under his fingertips, and remembers the overpowering perfume of the flowers they had stationed in the church and at the cemetery. But what he couldn't recall, now so many years later, what color his scratchy suit had been. He remembers his father struggling not to cry, trying to be a rock for his young and only son, and he remembers the sun shining so brightly and so high above them in almost a mocking manner.

Kurt felt a hand take his, and he instinctively leaned into Blaine's side with a sigh. Today was different; the clouds had taken a hold of the sky earlier that morning and had already poured several buckets of rain on them. Finn stood on his other side holding the large umbrella over the four of them—Blaine, Kurt, Rachel, and Finn—Rachel who had been sobbing since they had picked her up hours earlier, was still a mess under Finn's free arm as he rubbed circles into her shoulder. Burt and Carole stood somewhere in the back giving the group their much needed space. Several other classmates were scattered amongst the crowd, but Kurt wasn't really focused on anyone in particular. He knew some of his friends were there, some weren't.

They were seniors. This wasn't supposed to happen, not now and certainly not so close to graduation. He'd already cried twice, thick hard tears into Finn's t-shirt before breakfast and then again when Blaine arrived at his door before the funeral started.

"You ready?" Blaine asked softly and squeezed his hand. Kurt finally noticed that the crowd had already scattered and they were the only four still standing at the foot of the casket, Finn and Rachel still standing close behind them.

"Senseless," Kurt sighed. He'd been through a flurry of emotions that week—from happy and joyful for their last and final prom night to sad and lost, but now he only felt anger and he wasn't sure where he was supposed to direct his anger first. Kurt turned, hand still holding Blaine's and with one arm pulled Rachel into a hug, "God, I love you." She was silent for a moment, likely stunned at the suddenness of the exclamation, but returned the sentiment through a new wave of tears. "I don't tell you guys that enough."

They returned to the 'Hudmel' house after dropping Rachel home with her dads, and Finn dropped himself down onto the couch with a loud sigh, "Maybe I should have stayed."

Blaine was, as always, the voice of reason, "Her dads said they would make sure she was okay."

"Yeah, but—"

"Finn!" Kurt rubbed his forehead with the palms of his hands and the larger jock quieted almost instantly. "She'll be fine."

Finn nodded quietly and pushed himself off of the couch with one heave and wandered upstairs to his bedroom.

"Are you okay?" Blaine asked and took a seat on the arm of the chair Kurt currently occupied. Kurt sighed then tugged Blaine down onto his lap.

"I love you," he murmured into Blaine's chest. "I love you _so _much."

"I love you too," Blaine pulled Kurt's chin up to his face and kissed him long and hard before pulling away and letting Kurt cuddle into him.

"Thank you for being here today," Kurt whispered; Blaine only nodded in response.

It wasn't until an hour later that the doorbell disturbed the two. From the stairs Finn called out that he would answer it; Kurt didn't move until Finn called his name. Blaine followed close behind him, but stopped in the opening of the foyer as Kurt greeted Dave Karofsky with a short hug. Blaine offered a weak smile and a brief wave; Dave nodded in his direction silently.

"I feel like I'm asking the wrong question, but how are you?" Kurt asked quickly, but Dave only shrugged. "How's Azimio?"

"Still the same," Dave finally said and they all moved to sit in the living room. "His doctors are optimistic though. Whatever the fuck that means."

"D-do you need to talk to someone? I'm really worried you're not deal—" Kurt fumbled with the end of his shirt trying not to make anyone uncomfortable with the question. "I just don't want you to feel like you can't talk to anyone again."

"Oh. No, I already had an appointment with my doctor, but I—I swear if I need to talk, you guys are the first I'll come to," Dave smiled slightly. "I guess this friends thing is going to take some getting used to."

Kurt laughed for the first time in _weeks_, "Yeah, probably."

_Kurt doesn't really think at first; his brain is full of static and haze and he's almost positive he's heard Paul Karofsky wrong. It came out in a slew of words strung together without spaces or pauses or anything that would make sense, but he heard the word suicide and he's on the phone with Blaine only a few seconds after hanging up with the elder Karofsky. Then with Rachel, who is half asleep and after he explains the situation finds himself calming her through the phone. He promises to call her as soon as he has any news, but really Kurt tries to focus on the obvious. He needs to put on pants and a new shirt and find socks and his shoes and wake his dad to tell him what was happening._

_Though he had bullied Kurt for so long Burt Hummel had surprised everyone with his generally accepting, slightly skeptical, nature towards the younger Karofsky. It was as if he'd realized that the jock was a young, scared teenager just like Finn and Kurt and Blaine was._

_Burt woke with a start, immediately worried that a) it was two in the morning and b) Kurt was shaking his shoulder. He suspected someone was in trouble or hurt, and had hoped for his son's sake that Blaine was home in his bed safe and sound. The last thing they needed was for him to be injured or worse, he wasn't sure Kurt could take that right now._

"_Dave is at the hospital."_

_Burt's heart sunk; the sadness in Kurt's eyes spoke volumes and while he wanted to smack Dave Karofsky for once again making his son cry he couldn't help but instantly wonder why he was in the hospital._

"_Are you okay?"_

"_No," Kurt answered softly, trying his best not to wake a sleeping Carole. "Blaine is on his way; we're going to see if there is anything we can do. I just wanted to let you know."_

"_Well I'm up now," Burt sighed and ran a shaky hand over his face. "I'll take you."_

"_No, dad, it's fine. Go back to sleep, I'll call you later when I know more, okay?"_

_Burt nodded wearily, tired, but wanting to help his son, "Okay. Okay, kiddo, but tell Blaine to drive safely." Kurt hugged him tightly and Burt could have sworn his son let out a small sob. "He gonna be okay?"_

_Kurt pulled away and shrugged, "I'll call you when I get more information."_

_Blaine had swung by to pick up Rachel, who for some odd reason had gotten a hold of Santana (how and why she had Santana's phone number were both questions Kurt wanted to ask her later, but now most definitely was not the time), then coursed his way to Kurt's house, and all four of them crammed into Blaine's car to make the trip to the hospital._

_The situation was serious, or so the doctors kept saying. Loss of blood. Pale. Heart was under a tremendous amount of stress. Damage far deeper than the cuts Dave had made to his wrists. Both Blaine and Kurt weren't allowed to donate because of their orientation (how can they discriminate in this time of need? Kurt kept wondering), but Rachel was the one who, in the end, was really the only match anyways. She kept saying it was fate, and that once Dave pulled through he would owe her big time (musicals and duets were mentioned, but Kurt really, once again, didn't care at the moment)._

_Paul Karofsky was grateful they were there, though several times tried to persuade them to go home. There was nothing to do but wait. But Kurt refused, and then Santana stood her ground, and Rachel swore she wouldn't leave Dave's side until he was awake and recovering. And, well, Blaine wasn't leaving if Kurt and Rachel were staying. It wasn't until later the next afternoon, after calls to Burt, Finn, and Mr. Schuester, that Dave _finally_ opened his eyes to the white washed walls of his hospital room, his wrists still bound to the bed so he wouldn't hurt himself further once he woke._

_It took hours and plenty of visits from different doctors, but they finally allowed Kurt to see Dave. His wrists had been wrapped in layers upon layers of white gauze but he was free to move them, the doctors now sure that under proper supervision Dave would be fine._

"_Hi," Kurt said softly; he was leaning against the door frame watching Dave from afar before entering the room. _

_Dave looked up, startled, "W-what are you doing here?"_

"_Your dad called me. I was terrified when he said you had tried to kill yourself. Why the hell would you do something so stupid?"_

_He had been told not to agitate him, but Kurt was angry and he wasn't about to hide that. He _cared_; he had the right to be angry._

"_I don't even—I don't know. God I was just—everything felt like it was falling down around me and _suffocating_ me."_

"_Why wouldn't you come to me? Or Finn or Blaine or Rachel or _hell, _Dave, even Santana would have listened," Kurt paused, a long silence settled between them. Dave's eyes were perfectly trained on his hands clasped on top of his lap. "They were here. Earlier. Santana and Rachel. They went home to get some sleep because like me and Blaine they were here _all_ night."_

_Dave's eyes widened at the mention of Blaine's and the girls' names, and his face quickly crumbled, "Oh god. Oh god, I really fucked up."_

"_Well that's a given. Just promise me one thing?"_

"_Of course," Dave nodded through his glassy, tear filled eyes._

"_If—If it ever gets too bad and you feel like you have no one. No matter how angry I am at you for something stupid you've undoubtedly done please promise that you'll come to me. Or Rachel or Finn or Santana or Blaine. Anyone just—don't do this again. You were lucky once you may not be lucky twice." _

_Dave nodded, eyes closed, "I promise."_

Kurt watched as Finn retrieved the newspaper from the coffee table and cringed at the bold headline scrawled across the front page of the paper. The jock tossed it back onto the table in disgust.

**Six McKinley High students killed by drunk driver**


End file.
